


It Takes A Bit More

by NowWeOwnTheNight



Series: Haikyuu!! AUs [11]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ACS/paraplegia, Agender Character, Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Volleyball, [did i mention alcoholism], [he has so many issues my man oh no], [oikawa is me in that one bit on new years eve], [youll see it tomorrow when i write it out], alcoholismm, everything in your day going wrong and then someone makes it easier bc their general existence is a+, good ? night ? no ? does not compute ? how is a night good ?, i did mention alcoholism right bc despite it all oikawa definitely has an issue with it, injury-related depression, just so its out there, n feels, nursing/house care, physiotherapy, tHAT DAMN FRONT LEFT WHEEL, university/work placement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowWeOwnTheNight/pseuds/NowWeOwnTheNight
Summary: He spends the remainder of the short walk to Iwaizumi’s house with his face in the papers outlining Iwaizumi’s injury and treatment plan, speaking aloud the lines he’d learnt to open with.“Hi, my name is Oikawa Tooru and I’m your new caretaker. Your condition and care program requires me to do weekly checkups on you- we can pick a different day if this one doesn’t work fine… Ugh… What day even is it- no, professionalism. Okay… I see you’ve been undergoing your exercise for the past three months but please let me know if you need help with any. You should also be familiar with the requirements of the checkups but, if you ever need me to explain anything, please let me... Know… Ah, fuck it…"





	1. And You're Alive...

**Author's Note:**

> yEAH IT TAKES A BIT MORE THAN YOU  
> Title from You by the 1975 bc fuck me I love that song and im so sorry literally every fic has been about/based off 1975 songs lately but that’s juST WHO I AM THIS WEEK [im also weak af to fall out boy , someone needs to stop my gross punk hipster ass]  
> An AU in which iwa cant feel from the waist down and oikawa cant feel at all. Iwaizumi appreciates every little thing in life, and oikawa comes to appreciate iwaizumi. [that caretaker au no one wants or needs but suck it I made a thing] [also this ‘trope’ of i-hate-life-but-ur-the-one-thing-that-i-like-and-makes-it-worthwhile-and-wow-hey-i-am-slowly-starting-to-feel-good-about-living is my fave and I will overuse it to my deathbed]  
> the next chapter will be much longer in length [i have 4k at the moment] \o/ it will be up tomorrow . and thEN the day after i'll put up the second-to-last story of this series ( /)w(\✿) im so excited woo

≈=≈=≈

 

**Early Winter, 2010**

 

A goodbye- a few or maybe a few thousand; maybe it would’ve been better to _not_ say goodbye. _If_ he’d gotten the chance in the first place- which he _didn’t_. Such little words, and he got none of them in when his time ended, and of course Oikawa was too _dumb_ to remember to email his head of office or _whoever the fuck_ would let him continue his position.

Someone else took over. Some new-faced wannabe house nurse, waiting on Iwaizumi hand and foot, probably doing far better a job than he ever did, probably-

“No, dumbass, _stop_ thinking like this…” He mumbles to himself, barely refrains from slapping his palms to his cheeks for focus, seeing as he’s in the middle of the sidewalk at six in the afternoon, and _just_ down from the shop fronts near his apartment. Makki-san, his lively grocer, already scolds him for never buying enough vegetables and splurging on hard liquors. Not even _good_ liquor- it’s shitty vodka closer to turpentine than actual, drinkable alcohol. The shop owner already thinks he’s a sad, lonely booze-head. He doesn’t want to add _maniac_ to their list. Plus, the old lady in the balcony apartment above the entrance to his- and her, he figures –complex has seen him walk out in to the road at some ungodly hour of the morning and lie on the deserted road’s center line. Numerous times. Too many times to count.

Then there’s Sawamura-san, of course. How could he forget? Sweet Sawamura-san and his three German Shepherds- lovely brutes, kind of like Iwaizumi –who sniff him down in the morning when he’s on his way to class or work after a night of heavy drinking. It happens most mornings. Nearly every morning… _Every_ _single_ morning ever since last Friday, when he’d gotten the _news_ of his caretaking position coming to an end.

The three huge dogs would trap him in a circle and force him to smile awkwardly, make small talk with their owner. He’s not surprised that he slowly wore the older man’s reaction down from _‘good night, huh?’_ to _‘another shit one, huh?’_ to _‘are you alright?’_ , to which he’ll always respond _‘yeah, but I’ll be right- just need some sleep, I guess’_.

He’s ‘just been needing some sleep’ for four years and counting.

Tonight, he avoids the side of the road that Sawamura-san, the newly acquired silver-haired man on his arm, and those three gentle giants are on, giving him a simple wave once Sawamura-san manages to tear his eyes away from the man beside him. Before the men and their dogs can approach, he peels off in to the supermarket, letting out a short yell to let Makki-san know he’s arrived, tossing a wad of notes on the counter.

All in all, he needs to get his shit together enough to _not_ break down in public. He’s just got to keep telling himself that his degree will be worth it.

That everything he’s worked for will eventually lead to blue skies.

That his mind will crawl out of its little black hole and interact like it had with Iwaizumi Hajime around.

That it’s not going to stop this heartache, having the opportunity to say goodbye to Iwaizumi.

That anything and everything won’t find a way to remind him of Iwaizumi, because that man was like a little spark. A firefly, flittering around and shining- lighting up parts of his brain that have been quashed, left dormant for years.

And _shit_ , he does miss the man more than he’d ever missed anything.

And he’s… Oikawa has _never_ missed anything. Not home, not his family, not his… _Friends_ , or exes, or…

 _Damnit_ , he _has_ the man’s address, he could walk there in his _sleep_ , he knows the stadium Iwaizumi frequents and could find his way there in the dark even without a squeaky left front wheel guiding him, he could always go _see him again_ -

“It’s not exactly _healthy_ , is it?” He whines to Makki-san as they check-out two bottles of the cheapest vodka he could find, a bottle of some orange fizzy drink, and a half-kilogram packet of bacon. Makki-san shrugs and takes the money Oikawa slapped down on the counter upon arriving, calculating and handing the change over before reaching for a basket to pack Oikawa’s purchases in to.

“What, your attachment to alcohol, or your lack of vegetables, or your horrible sleep schedule, or your annoying degree, or,” They lean behind the counter, coming back with a leek and a head of broccoli that they throw in to Oikawa’s basket without ringing up on the register, all the while listing everything wrong in his life. Really, if Oikawa wanted to cry he would’ve let Sawamura-san use those magic words and ask him _how he is,_ ad he’d be screaming all this on the street corner, “That dumb _Ushiwaka_ , or your dad finally signing the paperwork to get you out of his life, or the supreme lack of aliens _in_ your life-”

“No, no- that’s my _only hope_ , Makki-san, don’t you _dare_ lump that in with the rest of this shit.”

“Well then I hope you get abducted. Bad night, Oikawa…” They lean back again, checking the security TV, “Sawamura’s gone. You’re safe to go- dunno _why_ you’re avoiding him…”

“Hm. Bad-night, Makki.”

 

His apartment is cold as ever, but the vodka dulls that out pretty fast.

Attachment issues versus abandonment issues.

_Let’s play a game of which one’s gonna win out, today?_

Walking down the street hand in hand or arm in arm like Sawamura and the silver-haired man, _together, at all_ \- that’s never going to happen, now.

But on the flip-side, he’ll never have to deal with the loss of a hand in his if he never had it in the first place.

Relationships make no sense, to him- why bother investing in someone else when they have their own mind, their own direction, and could drop you at any moment for one of a billion reasons?

_Dumb people…_

One of them being, apparently, wholly out of his control- and Iwaizumi’s control, for that matter –not that he’s blaming _Iwaizumi_ for the cacophony in his heart and brain and general existence that is…

Whatever the _hell_ this is.

 

≈=≈=≈


	2. And So Am I...

≈=≈=≈

 

**Late Spring, 2010, Five Months Earlier**

 

The bright-green folder labeled ‘I3PS’ pops open to reveal the ID card and patient information. It’s a brand new one; _fancy that_ , they must’ve redone their old-people files from the shitty, crumpled manila ones. If Oikawa correctly remembered his induction to the clinic he’d been assigned for this practical semester, he would have known that the _green_ meant ‘Intense Physiotherapy Patients of Professional Standard’, or, I3PS for short. He was probably too busy thinking about death. Or aliens. It’s usually one of the two.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa scowls, “What kind of a fucking old-man name is that, bet he’s seventy and can’t shit by himself.”

As part of the nursing degree he’s been chasing since escaping high school and his little hometown in Miyagi, he is required to complete a semester’s worth of work in a nursing position of any of the university’s referred locations. He picked the closest one to his place and went from there, letting the higher-ups take the wheel and give him whoever they pleased.

Now, on the day where first impressions will potentially affect his grade and thereby determine his future, _everything that could have possibly gone wrong has gone wrong._

His father let him know via text that his attempts to disown him have become less of a too-far-off dream and more of an imminent reality. One of his childhood friends had moved to America- _had_ , a few months ago, and never told him until Oikawa desperately called him asking for a lift. Because, _today_ , his train line broke down. _Helpful_ , right? Furthermore- with a phone bill that’ll be in the six-digits after that call, most likely -his sink broke and his landlord told him _he’d_ have to pay for repair, even though that’s the exact opposite to what it says in the contract they both signed at the beginning of his lease. That’s not to mention the water bill to come with the leakage. His studies? Failing. Word came in late last night in an email from his lecturer, and Oikawa was _far_ too drunk to even begin forming an eloquent response beyond: _fuck you I just wanna die_. According to his teacher, his last exam was wrong because he’d filled the answers all in the wrong places. He’d been right, he _knows he was right_ , but being sleep deprived for an exam is never going to end well, no matter how many energy drinks you scull beforehand.

On top of this hellhole of a morning, he’d hardly had time to do more than _brush_ his hair, didn’t get the chance to eat breakfast _or_ have his morning cup of tea, and is now _running late_ to the first meeting with his ‘client’ because of the- “ _Fucking_ trains-”

His phone bleeps with an incoming message.

Praying it’s the nursing company telling him the time has changed- and simultaneously _begging every God our there_ that it’s _not_ the nursing company telling him he’s late and asking him _where the fuck he is_ , for hung-over-and-maybe-still-a-bit-drunk Oikawa doesn’t even _know what streets are anymore_ -he takes his phone out of his pocket, snaps the folder shut, and looks at the notification.

_0912: Ushiwaka *sparkle emoji sparkle emoji*_

_don’t ever talk to me like that again, we’re done. i cant handle you- stop drinking and call me when you do. or just don’t bother, you are…_

_Swipe left to reply._

“Great!” He crows, smiling wide at a woman he’d just startled. Holding his phone up for a second in false victory, letting out another whoop as he brings it back down and stuffs it in to his pocket, Oikawa takes the folder back out and buries his nose in it. “Thanks, _asshole_ , that’s _exactly_ what I need to hear right now. Fuck, _now_ who am I gonna mooch off for drink money?”

Ushijima is an A-grade piece of trash, but this Iwaizumi Hajime sounds far more appealing and interesting right at he moment.

So invested in the file, he almost forgets to swipe his keycard at the front gate of his workplace.

Although the first thing he hones in on is the patient’s address, clicking it in to his phone’s GPS, he scans over other information in the sheets. Forgoing a stop at the main building for his uniform, more to avoid _where the fuck have you been_ than rebellion against the ugly olive shade of the work shirts, he circles around a tree and heads straight back out the gates, head bowed and incautious of the pedestrians he nearly shoves into the busy morning traffic. “You live off-site? Hm, I remember something about that. Eh…” Reading further down, he starts to hum facts to himself, glancing over every now and then at the GPS location in the crease of the open file. “Twenty-two… Not an old dude, huh… Shorter than me… _Hotter_ than me, by _fuck_ … Ew _-_ divorced a few months back, that’s gotta hurt… Damaged- oh… Wow, shit, fully… No hope of recovery, _shit_ … And his weight, I’ll bet, the muscle would just… They don’t have any attitude information, therapy treatment reports, psychoanalysis _report_ \- ugh- no, wow, of _course_ the bastards don’t, but surely this guy has seen a psych for this shit…” He flips though the other pages, disheartened by the lack of information he’s been provided, “What the fuck am I even gonna say to… Oh. Get it together, idiot, this is your fucking field of study…”

He spends the remainder of the short walk to his patient’s house with his face in the papers outlining Iwaizumi’s injury and action plan, speaking aloud the lines he’d studied to open with.

“Hi, my name is Oikawa Tooru and I’m your new caretaker. Your condition and care program requires me to do weekly checkups on you- we can pick a different day if this one doesn’t work fine… _Ugh_ … What day even is it- _no_ , professionalism. Okay… I see you’ve been undergoing your exercise for the past three months but please let me know if you need help with any. You should also be familiar with the requirements of the checkups but, if you ever need me to explain anything, please let me know… Ah, _fuck_ it…” Oikawa hits the heels of his hands to his ears in an attempt to shock himself to life, pressing in harder so all sound goes watery and murky, his loud heartbeat and the blood rushing around the pressure drowning his hearing. The burning pain around his palms distracts from every other sensation.

A tiny rock in the toe of his boot, the leaves of the low hanging tree over the path that rake through his hair and tickle his forehead; his feet as they push him down the street, numb and stiff in his shoes.

The smile on his face aches his cheeks, unable to second-guess himself before he’s knocking on the door of Iwaizumi’s house.

On the other side, he can make out incoherent yelling and a few smashes. Loud clattering approaches, a voice muttering too fast to understand between an inch of hollow wood, door handle turning, rattling.

“Hel- Hi…” Even with his greeting on the tip of his tongue, pushed out through the grin that’s draining his battery faster than attending participation-rewarded classes, he somehow manages to fuck it up-

“ _F-fuck-no-shit_!”

The door doesn’t open further than a foot- there’s a clatter, a wordless yelp, and a loud thud.

Giving the door a gentle nudge, he steps- more like _wedges_ –himself between in the crack, on to a surprisingly squishy rug in the house’s nearly pitch-black entryway-

“ _Fingers_!” The same voice shouts. Oikawa leaps back, his expression managing to slip away in his lack of concentration. And the voice, it came from…

Below him?

“Hi…” He crouches down, squinting in the dark. Unable to open the door further, he runs his hand down to find what’s stopping it. _A knee?_ Just as he makes to lean around and try moving it out of the way, a sharp appendage slams in to the bridge of his nose. … _Elbow_? A thick set of shoulders and a head are lifted into the dim daylight that’s not blocked by Oikawa’s ducked frame: stuck between the door and the frame, clutching his hurt nose. Blinking, wide, olive-grey eyes and a matted mess of dark hair, Iwaizumi Hajime is _… As hot as he is on the ID_ \- “Hi?”

“Iwaizumi Hajime!” Hefting his weight to one arm, Iwaizumi smiles so wide his eyes crinkle- Oikawa honestly hasn’t seen anyone smile like that since elementary school. The hand Iwaizumi freed comes up to shake his. Sparing his support on the frame of the door, Oikawa leans his temple against it instead, shaking the man’s hand. It’s warm, unnaturally blistering hot, branded with the harsh red skin that had been impressed with the tread of Oikawa’s shoes.

With the greeting done, Iwaizumi lets his upper body flop back to the floor. Oikawa notices that it’s made from floorboards, not carpet as he’d initially figured, although he only spots this when a dribble of blood escapes his clamped fingers over his nose, speckling the stained dark wood.

 _Surely falling face-down onto this would hurt_ , he thinks, pinching his nose and tilting his head, looking woefully at Iwaizumi’s face-down sprawl.

“You must be Oikawa Tooru?” Iwaizumi asks the wood.

“… Yes?” He honks through his pinched nose.

“Awesome- you’re the new caretaker, right? Sundays and Tuesdays are the only days I don’t have physio and other appointments… Do Sundays suit you?” Unmoving, Iwaizumi throws out his questions calmly, so relaxed Oikawa can’t help but assume it’s forced. _What a weird guy…_

“Yes?”

“Great. Want some tea?”

“Yes?!” Standing and extending a hand down to Iwaizumi’s prone form, he feels an eyebrow twitch, his left eye going off as well. _Must be exhaustion._ “Want- need a h-hand getting-”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Iwaizumi sighs, one hand pointing up to the right of Oikawa’s hip. “Lights. Please take your shoes off…” He lets out a soft chuckle that Oikawa sees the end of, using his elbow to flick the switch and illuminating the entryway, “Those heels are monsters and I need my fingers.”

Oikawa eases himself fully through the crack in the door, toeing his shoes off and looking around- there are a few smashed vases with dead flowers crumbling in them, lining a destruction path from the kitchen to the entryway. Iwaizumi’s chair is on its side next to his feet, his legs bent awkwardly where he’d fallen to get to the door. He’s in what appear to be his pajamas, crinkled and worn, the flannel pants displaying a cartoon tree print.

“Are you hurt? What happened-”

“Eh, one of the wheels keeps getting jammed, it happens a lot, don’t worry.”

“… Which wheel?”

“The front left.”

“I’ll get it fixed as soon as I can.”

“Thanks.”

“Oikawa Tooru.” He introduces himself, and would’ve hit himself in the face if he weren’t helping Iwaizumi up and in to his chair, because _Iwaizumi already knows your damn name, of course he knows you’re coming, idiot._ “… Your condition and c-”

“Care program, _blah_ , blah.” Iwaizumi flaps his hand, using the other to turn his chair around, then using both to roll himself out of the entry way and into the kitchen, going right for the kettle. He slides a box of tissues into view on his way- Oikawa grabs a few and nods in thanks even though Iwaizumi can’t see him, pressing the tissues to his nose. “I know the drill by now- like I said. Sunday? And is green tea okay?”

“… Sunday. Yeah- a-and green is fine.”

“I’m sorry…” He chuckles, pouring a cup for Oikawa and sliding it across the counter, motioning to a stool for Oikawa to take a seat, “You probably got taught all that crap in school, I’m just sick of hearing about it.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Hm.” Iwaizumi sips the scalding tea without batting an eye.

Oikawa doesn’t know _what_ it is about this man- the piercing stare, the constantly creaking wheels, the way he holds his head cocked slightly like he’s always searching, the way he can unflinchingly put boiling water to his lips –but, whatever it is, it scares him a little.

He gulps, and Iwaizumi speaks. “How far are you in your degree?”

“Two years?”

“What made you want to take up nursing?”

“I… It seemed like- like something I’d enjoy?”

“And do you?”

“… I-” _don’t enjoy anything, nothing brings me any happiness anymore, I hate life and living and just want to feel nothing and do nothing and be eternally drunk until I finally die, I hate work and I hate existing, sorry-_ “- Yeah, I’ve… Liked it more than I expected, I guess?”

“… You keep answering like you’re the one questioning.” Iwaizumi smiles at him, scratching his chin. A peaceful second passes, and the man is hiding behind his mug. “Kind of makes me doubt everything you have to say.”

“You probably should.”

“That’s no good, coming from a nurse taking care of a paraplegic.”

Smirking, Oikawa reaches down and pinches Iwaizumi’s leg under the counter.

“ _Ouch_.” He barks: sarcastic, grinning, and barely holding in giggles.

Oikawa laughs, for a second forgetting about the state of his wallet, his home, his _dumb_ love life, his meager support system that’s falling to ruins, his family, his education, his _despicable_ appearance. For the next hour or so, he allows himself to sit there, enjoy a cup of tea with Iwaizumi, chatting the morning away about their uncomfortable and weird medical experiences, favourite animals, places they want to visit in the world, and anything else that comes to their minds.

 

~

 

Iwaizumi even makes Oikawa change his shoes, a pair of gym runners with good grips, worn and scuffed from years of use. They take a train south a few stops, Iwaizumi leading the way to the stadium and handing Oikawa a set of keys.

“Are you sure this is okay, Iwa-chan?”

“What’s that shitty nickname?”

“Shut up- is this even legal?”

“Of course. Mattsun has been my teammate since we were young. He even cut the keys for me, a little while ago.”

“Huh, yeah- oh, and it’s _weird_. After all we talked about it, I double checked… And your report never said anything about being a pro volleyballer, it just said ‘sport related’? That’s weird, don’t you think? I’d say as a doctor, physio, whatever- you’d add something like that…”

“The doctors I have hardly care for the passion, just for the outcome. Survive, or not survive. Recover, or not recover. I’m beyond caring.” He tilts his head back as he finishes the tough wheel up the ramp and enters the gym, blinking against the lights and sighing, “I just want to _play_ again.”

“You have been, huh?”

“Yeah, they… They _indulge_ me- that’s their word, not mine. You actually seem excited to be here- or, is that offensive? You don’t _feel_ enough to get excited- just mildly interested?”

“Ahaha, Iwa-chan knows me _so_ well…” Oikawa replies in a flat tone to joke with him, grinning at him, urging him to smile back. Iwaizumi hasn’t smiled much today. _It’s unnerving_ … “I used to play in high-school, in my first year of university until I gave it up competitively. I still play, practice by myself and go to the gym, but it’s not-”

“Why’d you give up?”

“Chronic depression, what else?”

“Fair enough. I’m glad you didn’t say ‘workload’, I could tell there was something else- I know how it feels, Oikawa. You… You know, you can always talk to me if you need to, right?”

“Same back to you, Iwa. Thanks. I’m a useless student and a sub-par nurse, but I’m glad I have someone to suffer with.”

“And hey, what a pair we make. Useless student, useless paraplegic.”

“ _Incomplete_ paraplegic, Iwa.” Oikawa tries again at lightening Iwaizumi’s attitude, though it’s clear that the man has fallen prey to his bad mood full swing. He runs to the edge of the gym to retrieve a trolley of balls. “Don’t give up hope just yet!”

“… Huh… Tell that to my doctor, my physio-” He snatches a ball from the basket and throws it up, rolling forward to meet it and hitting it with a ridiculous amount of strength- “My _ex-_ husband, my team, my parents- everyone- _nobody_ believes in my recovery. Why should I even bother? It’s not like I’ll be sprinting around, and jumping, and- _gah_ , it’s such bullshit, that’s what it is!”

Wheeling angrily to retrieve it, ignoring the new one Oikawa holds out for him, Iwaizumi goes all the way to the farthest corner of the gym where his spike ended up.

“I do.”

“Huh!?”

“I said- _I_ _do_! Believe… In your recovery, Iwa…”

“… Yeah?” It’s quiet, but it echoes off the walls and the sky-high roof far louder than their shouting had.

All he can do is nod, from this distance. Any words he’d want to say in response would be lost in translation, shouted across such a wide space.

 

~

 

"Only _one_ bottle of wine, Oikawa?"

“I can always go back for more, Makki-san.”

“Please, this fine establishment doesn’t _need_ your blood money.”

“Ew. A snob. Maybe I’ll stick with my single bottle of red.”

“Eh, you’ll be having less fun. Not like I _care_ about the state of your happiness. _Or_ your liver... _Or_ your wallet.”

“That’s my guy.”

“Bad night, Oikawa.”

“You have a bad night too, Makki-san~”

 

~

 

Having a full-time patient- not that that was part of the assignment, but Oikawa’s gone and taken the job up regardless –is just like having a close friend… Minus the temperature prodding and leg massages and physiotherapy trips and reflex testers and heart-rate measures. _And_ , just like _any_ good friend should, Oikawa has picked up on the many bits and pieces that make Iwaizumi the man he is: what makes him laugh, what pisses him off, what makes him happy, and so on [dirty or morbid jokes and Oikawa’s tales of his fucked up everyday life; reality TV and texts from his old teammates; dogs and people-watching from his window and not having to bend down to get ice-cream from the freezer. Oikawa is a dedicated student and honorable at his work, never let anyone tell you otherwise].

But his injury?

As much as Iwaizumi likes to cover it up, gloss over it with humor and tea and stories and volleyball, his injury is a big problem- a huge crater in his temperament- a flip-switch between good days and bad. Which is understandable, given his style of life prior to the accident _and_ the accident plus the resulting injury itself as standalone occurrences. However, the _volleyball_ aspect of his life at the current time is what truly brings out that side of him.

Oikawa, without fail, is there to meet him where he opens up.

“Your program is more focused on retaining your sensations, Iwa, not movement. But with ACS, you can usually get _some_ movement back, at least- depends on the injury, and _yours_ … Yours isn’t actually as bad as they may’ve made it out to be- I got a look at the x-rays and reports. It’s minor damage at the front of your spine, and they’ve written for the time of injury, they were pushed by the sports season, the pressure to get you better, so…” He trails off, watching Iwaizumi watch him, rising to match the slow smile spreading on the man’s face, “Seems stupid if they thought you’d be _stopping_ -”

“I can’t stop, _won’t_ stop.” He mutters, bouncing the ball a few times. Each slamming sound of it hitting the court livens his eyes, bit by bit, until he’s wearing this downright annoyingly sunny grin on his stupidly happy face. “I may appreciate every little thing in life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see the bad in it- doesn’t mean I don’t feel the bad in myself. It’s just a lot easier to fight off when you allow small things to bring you joy. Throwing a volleyball. Making tea. Listening to rain. Having a hot bath. Reading a good book.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re looking for something new to add to that list, it’s…”

Oikawa’s chest clenches and he stops himself, blinking hard and thinking about what he was about to say.

_It’s that you inspire me?_

_It’s that every day I see you, I go home and find one more thing to appreciate, be it different types of green teas- you have an obsession, Hajime –or that drama on every Monday night at seven or the brand of frozen yogurt I’ve had to ask Makki to order for him- another obsession, really, these need to be checked out, you can’t run on frozen yogurt and tea forever, I’m a med student, I know these things –or the days on which rain pours from the sky enough to flood the streets._

_And every day, I feel a little more, I look forward to a little more, I smile a little more._

_All that… Is thanks to you._

_I value you, and I admire you- I’m sure you’d appreciate knowing how much you’ve affected me-_

“It’s… What? _Hello_ , earth to Oikawa, come in Tooru-”

“It’s how hard you’re gonna have to work to receive my serves~!”

“Oh, you talk so much _shit_ for a _ten year old_.”

“ _Fight_ me, wheelie.” He sneers, ducking under the net and jogging to the opposite backline, grinning to himself when he hears the squeak of Iwaizumi’s wheels on the linoleum, that damn broken wheel skittering every few seconds. _Shit, I must remember to put in a form for new equipment-_

“You take that back, shit-head!”

“You’re on!”

 

~

 

“You- you- _I can’t_ believe- you brought it up with her! Oikawa- I- I’m-”

“And?! What did she-”

“She said that- that once I get some feeling back, I can work up to movement- I- _fuck_ I’m- Oikawa, I’m so _fucking relieved_.” Iwaizumi yanks him down, nearly tipping back his chair when Oikawa’s unassuming full weight is settled on top of him. “Thank you,” He whispers into his shoulder, “ _Thank you thank you thank you_ …”

Oikawa tries to shift some weight back onto his feet but Iwaizumi refuses to let him go, and soon enough Oikawa figures out why.

He ends up bracing one arm against the wall above Iwaizumi, using the other to help the man cling to him, hugged around Iwaizumi’s middle as he cries silently into Oikawa’s chest in the hallway of the physiotherapist’s office.

 

~

 

“He’s just another rotten apple, _please_ don’t get hung up about it. You’re young enough for heartbreak to be secondary.”

“You’re hardly a year older than me.” Oikawa scoffs after he comes down from a jump serve, voice growing a little less friendly. Iwaizumi sees it- _somehow,_ under all of Oikawa’s carefully fabricated layers –and puts the volleyball back in the basket without a word. He gives Oikawa his full attention. “And you have _no_ idea what my heart is like.”

“Hm, true- some hearts _are_ more fragile than others.”

“Yours?”

“… Certainly weak. But I am able to keep it pieced together.” At this, Oikawa sneers, looking down at his clenched hands. He hears Iwaizumi’s broken wheel rasp as he rolls across, coming into his field of vision. “Coach always said fortitude was my strong point…. And yours?”

“Granite.” He replies on impulse, straightforward and strong like the rock he resembles, the stones weighing him down, surely taking up the space of the empty place in his chest. “Cold like it, too. So I’ve been told. Impossible to break…”

“No one seems to get that’s because it’s already broken.”

“Wh-”

“I know what that’s like. I’ve- I know I’ve said that before, but.” Iwaizumi shrugs, poking at his unfeeling knees. “Straight after the accident, and then after I got after the reports, and then the fucking divorce papers… I couldn’t feel any emotion properly. And everyone thought I had managed to accept it so easily, because of my _fucking_ fortitude.”

“… Broken.”

_It’s something far more than fortitude._

_Being ripped apart too many times that fixing yourself is an instinct, a way of being, a cycle of almost cathartic nature, so second-hand that it’s stabilizing. Too long without it, you go mad. Too many times it shows, and to others… You are mad._

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi’s expression astonishes Oikawa, his words far from the purity of his smile, “Broken.”

 

~

 

His physiotherapist draws a line with the cold metal bar- down from his elbow to the bones of his wrist. She moves it to his knee, pressing it into his bare skin and trailing it down to the top of his foot.

“The straight line, Iwa. You can’t feel any of it?”

“No…”

“How about we try one on the back of-”

“N-no, I.” He flips the brakes of his chair to disengage, sighing. “I think I want to go home, now.”

“Alright, Iwaizumi. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“Take care. Or, rather- make sure that lovely Oikawa-san takes care of you, alright?”

She giggles at the blush crawling around Iwaizumi’s neck as he tugs his sweater back on.

 

Oikawa gives him space the whole way back to his house, keeping the topic to light subjects: how he almost got run over by a car the other day, his ongoing war with a new neighbor who plays the electric drums and swears to him that they’re _‘not loud it’s why I got electric drums, see, electric’_ , the classes he’s added to the list of ‘things to burn to the ground’ since the start of the new university school year, the colour of the clouds this afternoon.

When they get to his bedroom, get him changed and in to bed, Oikawa smiles at him softly from the door.

“… I know you’re hung up on it, but... Give it time, Iwa-chan. It will take time, and it may not come at all. But if it does, even a little bit… All this trying will be worth it, right?”

Honestly, he’s so shocked to hear those words come out of Oikawa’s mouth with such sincerity- as though he himself believes in them -that he doesn’t realise Oikawa’s about to leave.

“… Yeah, it is, I guess.”

“See you tomorrow, Iwa-chan.” He whispers, closing the door quietly.

“Good night!” He calls through the door, stuffing his duvets over his mouth when he hears a quiet “Goodnight, Hajime” from the hallway. He can tell Oikawa’s doing that thing where he smiles so much his cheeks tingle- can picture it, and the twitch of his hands when he thinks about covering it up, as well.

He falls asleep, thinking _since when did I get so fond of this stupid man?_

 

~

 

Oikawa’s hooting, outright screeching with laughter- chasing Iwaizumi around the gym, their cackles repeating over and over off the hard walls, blurring the atmosphere; an empty gym late at night, who knew it could ever feel so full.

“Slow down! Come back here!!”

“You’ll have to catch me, first!”

But no matter how hard Iwaizumi shoves at his wheels, Oikawa catches up to him, trying to pull on the handlebars against Iwaizumi’s speed and slow them down. That stupid front left wheel locks and Iwaizumi is pitched face-first off his chair, followed by Oikawa who tumbles over the back of the wheelchair and nearly crushes its light-metal frame under his heaviness. He’d be blind with worry if it weren’t for Iwaizumi’s laughter, louder now more than ever as he rolls on to his side to look at Oikawa.

Eyes so alive, no longer permanently drooped and bored-looking. Those dark patches are still heavy underneath them, but at least he doesn’t layer concealer on top of them anymore. And the smiling- he’s started to realise. It’s a new thing. A _new_ thing, since he’s started greeting Iwaizumi at the kitchen table rather than the door, since they’ve started a routine that feels like it’s been on for a lifetime.

“Alright?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa snickers, obviously feeling compelled to cover his mouth with how damn _wide_ he’s smiling, and _shit_ , Iwaizumi just wants to grab those fidgety fingers in his and kiss them, “ _You_?”

“Yeah. Come on, Dizzy-kawa, take me home.”

“Okay~!” Oikawa smiles, laughs.

 

~

 

_Smiling, laughing._

He hardly realized he’s doing it all the time, now, whenever he’s around Iwaizumi- playing volleyball with Iwaizumi- watching TV with Iwaizumi- drinking tea with Iwaizumi- sitting in comfortable silence with Iwaizumi- walking Iwaizumi home from his appointments- helping Iwaizumi in to his pajamas- _thinking_ about Iwaizumi, the way he chuckles to himself at things Oikawa does, the look he gets with a volleyball in his hands, the damn way he _sneezes_ -

“Someone’s _glowing_.”

“Huh?”

“Who’re you missing, Oikawa?” Makki drawls, ringing him up. “It’s disgusting. Get it out of my shop, I close soon- or, _oh_ , could it be that my very presence-”

“It’d take a bit more than the likes of _you_ , Makki-san, to make me smile like this.”

“See if I give you free veggies again, asshole.” They grumble, doing just that- a sweet potato, an eggplant large enough to kill an elephant, and a bunch of onions. “Now get your cute little love-struck _butt_ outta my shop.”

“Haha, okay, grumpy pants, but only because I want to!”

“Yeah, yeah, bad nigh-”

“Good night, Makki~!!”

“… Good… _Good_ night?”

 

~

 

It feels like it’s been a year, even though he knows it’s only been a couple of months.

Oikawa traces a smooth line down Iwaizumi’s bicep, laughing softly when his hand is slapped away.

“Stop it.”

The hand wanders down his side. Iwaizumi watches it trace line after line on his upper thigh, sending shivers up his spine regardless of the lacking sensation.

“I mean it, Tooru.” Iwaizumi snatches his hand and brings it to his chest, their faces close enough for him to see the pores on Oikawa’s skin. “Don’t,” He hardly manages around a smile, watching Oikawa’s face light up in the wonderfully soft illumination from the television, “Damn tease.”

“Filthy liar.” Oikawa mumbles back. “This movie was supposed to be interesting. It moves too fast and the scenes are too short. I don’t like it. You have such bad taste.”

“Yeah, well, get used to it.”

“Meanie~”

 

≈=≈=≈

**Winter, 2011. New Years Eve.**

 

“ _Aaaahhhh_!!!!” Oikawa screams, holding it at the same pitch and volume for well over the twenty seconds it takes to enter the shop, run to the liquor section, select his drink, ring himself up at the front counter, and exit the shop.

That’s all Oikawa can manage, checking out the priciest bottle of gin himself and opening the till, chucking in half the amount due- an unspoken agreement that Hanamaki will put in the remainder later in place of a traditional, wrapped holiday present for Oikawa.

“I’m so impressed.” Hanamaki drawls, never once leaving their task of pointlessly feather-dusting a shelf. “And a happy New Year.”

 

≈=≈=≈

 

**Winter, 2011. Midnight. New Years Day.**

 

The stupid front left wheel is still squeaking; that’s what he hears first, over the bustle and cheering in the festival’s brightly-lit paths, coming from the fireworks, the game stands and food stands and all sorts of attractions. People grunt and weave around him and the man in the chair, deemed too slow-moving for the crowds to bother waiting behind. It’s as if no one can see them- as if they’re so focused on one another that a small rip in reality has been created where they are. Someone knocks in to him from behind, shoving him forward, closing their distance. His knees knock in to Iwaizumi’s and he leans over the top of the other man to grab the handlebars of the chair, trying to save Iwaizumi from rolling away into the swarm of festivalgoers.

The alcohol on his breath is _wretched_ , almost as bad as his appearance.

With a pointed smirk, Iwaizumi catches his eye once Oikawa looks back up from the older man’s hand clutched on the wheels. Oikawa flushes a cheerful shade of red, cheeks glowing crimson like one of the lanterns lining the rooves of the stands. Slowly, Oikawa slides his hands off of the handles, coming to rest over the top of Iwaizumi’s on the chair’s wheels. Crouching down on one knee in front of Iwaizumi, he forces himself to take a deep breath.

“I must be dreaming…”

“Happy New Year, Oikawa.”

Oikawa pinches his arm to check he’s not hallucinating, and then he does the same to Iwaizumi’s leg when the image of the man in front of him doesn’t warp and fade into the ratty wall of his apartment. Instead of the blank look and dead cynicism he expects, a blinding smile blossoms over Iwaizumi’s face. He mirrors it unthinkingly, though it starts breaking up, shattering at the edges in equal parts elation, nervousness, and melancholy.

“Ow, the fuck was _that_ for.”

“You-” _felt it_ , was how he’d intended to finish that sentence- it’s lost in a choked cry, devolving fast in to sickening bawls, caught halfway: laughing and crying overcoming him simultaneously. He’s never had reason to do both at the same time, not for ages, and he feels it shake all the way through to his bones, rendering him numb and unfeeling; not noticing Iwaizumi tugging him forward into a hug.

“Oh, get yourself together, you _mess­-”_

 _“_ You _\- felt_ - _”_

“Only just, but-”

“Y-you- you still- _f-felt it_ -”

“Get it _together_ , Tooru.” Iwaizumi strokes his back, chuckling when Oikawa makes no progress on calming down. The laugh only incites him. Its familiarity, its comfort, the memories held with it. “I’m right here, I’m here.”

Oikawa makes to pull back and wipe his nose but it’s possible that he’s not the only one clinging too tightly. Iwaizumi’s chair makes an agonized wail that Oikawa mimics, fragmented between hiccupped cackles and hitched sobs. He ends up wiping his nose unapologetically loudly on Iwaizumi’s coat collar.

“Your wheel is still broken- s-sorry I didn’t get the _dumb thing_ _fixed_ -”

“It’s _okay_ , Tooru, it’s… _Fuck_ …” And it’s good to know that he’s not the only one whose voice is getting wrecked by a tight throat, whose eyes are clouded with tears, whose chest is clotted with some weird build-up of relief, making it hard to hear and feel for all the blood thundering hard, stuck there. “It’s okay.”

≈=≈=≈

**Author's Note:**

> well fuck me that came out a bit more .. owell \o/  
> hope you liked it =]  
> oh and speaking of the 1975, there is this INCREDIBLE matsuhana fic which is called ‘chocolate’ and obvs based/inspired by the 1975 song chocolate and it is absolute PERFECTION here is a link , please check it out !!!!! I cant believe its taken me this many 1975 songs to rec it fml it is sO GREAT http://archiveofourown.org/works/6338779 it’s basically mattsun and makki trying to out-gay iwaoi and fuckkk it’s just amazing  
> AAAAAA WAIT  
> WHILE IM AT IT: the uLTIMATE knee injury fic just . . look at it … https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393144 it’s amazing i cried i fell in love my family accepted me and all my friends found peace i was cured of all ailments \o/


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